


Marionette

by AndreaLyn



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Chase could either be ex-colleagues, affair-havers, or bowling buddies. Or they could just be friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marionette

The thing about Doctor Gregory House is that after spending his adult life pushing people away, he’s come to realize that he doesn’t exactly have any friends outside of the people who think they know him better. Wilson and Cuddy can have their secret meetings all they want about how to get closer to him, but the truth is that they’re already his friends through way of Stockholm Syndrome.   
  
What’s becoming clearer to House is that even the ones he thought he had in the palm of his hand, he doesn’t anymore. The conversation with Chase in the changeroom made that plenty clear and now he’s stuck thinking that someone he thought would be his friend in times of Wilson’s avoiding him and Cuddy ignoring him, that someone actually didn’t give a shit about him.  
  
That’s what’s led House to Chase’s doorstep, leaning with his cane against the frame of the door, forehead pressed to his hand which sits pressed against the wood paneling.   
  
He’s taking a chance. He could be opening the door to Cameron and some heavy duty  _caring_ , after all. (But he’s not because he’s off the methadone and he’s as observant as he’s ever been. He’s made sure to check she’s on duty tonight and besides, House isn’t even sure what he’s here for).   
  
He and Chase aren’t  _friends_. Not even in House’s convoluted world, apparently. He needs to understand why that’s changed. He needs to know if Chase is no longer under his wicked thrall, dancing at each twitch of House’s fingers like a marionette on tight strings. He knocks again, louder than before and if Chase thinks he’s going away, he’s severely mistaken.  
  
“You can step away from high tea and footie,” House calls out in a mock-British accent, not caring about the oceanic difference between where Chase is from and where House purports him to be. “And answer the door.”  
  
It’s still a while yet before the locks are being undone and House comes face to face with the ex-friend, the friend who is no more.   
  
Chase looks tired. If House thinks back, he’ll probably recall the four surgeries that he had today that would do that to a man. He’s unshaven, unkempt, and if House possessed an Australian fairer mirror, maybe he’d be looking into a shorter version of himself.  
  
“House, what do you want?” Chase tiredly asks.   
  
House adjusts his cane, leaning it heavily on the small porch. He figures sheepish won’t last long, but while it does he can make his excuses and manage until he can figure out a plan of attack. “I came here,” he begins to speak, “because we aren’t friends.”  
  
Chase gapes at him for a very long moment. “You came here because…”  
  
“If I wanted a parrot, I’d go to the mall,” House notes sardonically.   
  
“Why does our not being friends mandate a visit?” he wonders, confusion writ all over his face as he frowns. “We’ve never been friends and you never stopped by before.”  
  
“We have. You and I went bowling. You bought me lunch. You lent me money.”  
  
“You stole money, bribed me, and used me as a Wilson substitute,” Chase protests.  
  
“See, that’s my version of friends,” House informs him, leaning in a little to confess this small secret. “So, I figured if we weren’t friends…” He leans in a little bit more until he’s kissing Chase and all thoughts of Cameron in the ER or of Cuddy whiling away another night with the baby disappear from his mind.  
  
See, if they aren’t friends, but they’ve come this far, they’re still  _something_. And until he has the answer, House isn’t about to let it die.  
  
He gets a muffled cry out of Chase, but most notably, Chase isn’t pulling away. He wonders if that has anything to do with dissatisfaction with Cameron or if it’s just because House’s little theory isn’t exactly wrong.  
  
They might not be friends, but House will always have a puppetmaster’s control of Chase in a way. Those strings are never going to be fully severed, as much as Chase twists and turns and tries to cut each and every last one. There’s always going to be this one left, this controlling little invisible string that House can tug at times like this and pull Chase in this direction and that.  
  
He pulls him in for a kiss with the cane supporting his back, no shame for their presence on Chase’s front porch and he parts his lips. Stubble is rough on stubble and once he gets his point across (which takes nearly two minutes), he eases back.  
  
Chase looks ready to splutter and keel over. “What was that for!”  
  
“Proving a point!” House replies pleasantly. “We’re clearly not friends. That leaves ex-colleagues, hot-affair-having men, or bowling buddies. And I know what bowling shoes do for your complexion,” House informs him casually, shaking his head as if to indicate a very ‘no’ way about it.  
  
“House, for. Chri…fine!” Chase gets out, exasperated. “I’ll be your friend! You could have just asked!”  
  
“That was my way of asking,” House points out, taking a step backwards. “You’re sure you don’t want to be that second thing? I heard you Aussies are wild down under.”  
  
“Goodnight, House,” Chase says with a sigh.  
  
The cane prevents the door from closing totally. That would be the cane that House pushes out to make sure that Chase can’t slam the door on him. Chase has got the slightest of little stubble-burns on his cheek from the kiss, but that’s nothing to match the pink tint of humiliation in his cheeks.  
  
“What?” Chase asks, opening the door another scant four inches.  
  
“We’re friends. I could use a drink before I go home,” House insists, limping his way into the house without an invitation. Good thing he’s not a vampire, sparkling or otherwise, huh. “Scotch. On the rocks. Might as well pour a second. I’m thirsty.”  
  
House can almost hear Chase scratching and searching to find that last loose string House has got his fingers on.  
  
Pity he’s not ever going to find it.   
  
“Here’s to being friends,” Chase salutes, sounding pretty exhausted about it. He lifts his glass to House’s two and sinks into a chair covered in clothes and surgical scrubs that probably need a good washing. House just waits and secures himself a place on a sofa, marking it out as  _his_.  
  
“Friends,” House echoes knowingly.   
  
Not that option number two would have been so bad, but hey, he can do the friends thing, too. Especially when it comes with alcohol like this.


End file.
